


Shhh

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, smut art prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shhh,” she says, softly in his ear. She kisses her way down his throat. “We’ll be heard.” The way her mouth is sucking and nibbling is not making quietness any easier.</p><p>Fill for the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Smutty_artsPromptChallenge">smutty_arts art prompt challenge</a>, inspired by <a href="http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/148200625063/filthy-smut-warning-a-prompt-i-drew-for-a-smut">this NSFW art </a> by the wonderful <a href="http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/">youkaiyume</a>, our <a href="http://inthroughthesunroof.tumblr.com/post/148168317000/the-five-types-of-canon">queen of crotchcanon</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shhh

Furiosa is watching him. Max is waist deep in an engine, tracing a faulty connection that keeps giving trouble. When he looks up, her eyes are on his hands, following what he’s doing. He’d think it was a normal check on a shared project, until he sees the look on her face. She’s staring, slightly flushed.

“Could get something to eat?” he suggests. “Get out of here.” Perhaps they could take food up to her room. The first dinner shift is over, with groups of blackthumbs returning to the garage. Furiosa starts, looking self-conscious, then agrees; they’ve got a lot done this morning. She follows him to the cleaning station, starts getting the grease off. Passing him the soap, she runs a wet finger down the inside of his forearm, her eyes still on his hands. Max swallows, cock stirring. He’s glad he’s in leathers, which do more to conceal the state he’s in than canvas trousers would. The machine shop is bright and busy, with lots of people around.

She takes an unusual route out of the garage. At the back of the machine shop, beyond the hoist that raises cars to be worked on, there’s a tunnel with a stair leading up to the garden. It’s a long way round to just about anywhere, and deserted at this hour. Around the first corner, there’s an alcove hollowed into the rock, where work for a storage room was started and abandoned. Max can’t resist, pulls her in for a moment and kisses her. He meant it for a moment, but she’s so warm and eager that he lingers. 

Furiosa pushes him further in, his back against the stone, her mouth hungry. He has to swallow a moan: there are blackthumbs at work just beyond the rock wall. He can hear the clatter of more of them returning from the meal, talking and getting back to work. 

“Shhh,” she says, softly in his ear. She kisses her way down his throat. “We’ll be heard.” The way her mouth is sucking and nibbling is not making quietness any easier. He has one hand in her hair, stroking her soft fuzz. He runs the other down her back, tugs her closer.

She makes a satisfied little noise, and pushes him harder against the wall. The rock surface is uneven; he slides down it, half-sitting, half lying against the slanting stone outcrop. She scrambles onto him, straddling him so she can grind their hips together. He grunts at the friction, his cock hard under tight leather and the pressure of her body. Furiosa grins.

“I said shhh,” she whispers, licks the pulse in his neck. Max slides his hand between her legs, cupping her crotch through her trousers. His fingers press hard on the seam. She rocks into it with her own smothered gasp, her breath heavy in his ear. He moves his other hand to her breast, stroking her nipple through her shirt.

“I want to fuck you here,” she says, her voice soft but insistent against his neck. He gulps, fingers pressing deeper, trying to feel her through the leather. “Been – oh – thinking about it all morning.” She kisses him again, slow and greedy. “Watching your hands and thinking about them on me.” He whimpers at that, kissing her neck in self-defense, trying to cover his own noises. He wraps his arm around her, gripping her tight. His other hand is still cupping her mound, fingers curved where she’s pushing against him. He starts stroking, pressing the thick leather seam against her and rubbing back and forth, watching her face as she bites back a groan. 

Her expression is caught between abandon and mischief: he can see both, chasing each other over her face. She’s pushing against his hand, on the point of letting go, with just enough control to keep teasing him. Catching him looking, she kisses him again. When he licks her upper lip, he feels more than hears her tiny whimper.

“You going to come for me?” He’s trying to match her tone, but it comes out rough. She gives an unexpected little whine, nuzzles against him. He doesn’t often talk during sex, struggles to find the words, but he knows she likes it when he does. He goes on stroking, feels her start to twitch as he grinds the seam against her. “Like feeling you,” he manages, hoarse and low against her skin. “When. I like hearing you.” She moans, tries to muffle her mouth in his shoulder as her hips buck against him. 

He holds her steady and rubs, driving her on, feeling her shake and gasp. She’s not loud enough to be heard over the workshop noise, he doesn’t think, but she’s getting riskily close. She keeps her face against his shoulder as she comes, covering the worst of the noise. 

She’s still panting when she reaches for his belt, with a sharp catch of breath when he sucks a kiss under her jaw. She kisses him again as she gets his cock out; he’s not sure if her mouth is keeping him quiet or making him louder. She pumps her hand on him, twice, then pulls away. The complaining sound Max makes is entirely involuntary, but dies away when he sees her start on her own trousers. 

It’s awkward: she’s straddling his hips, making it hard to get her pants off when her legs are already spread wide. Max leans in to lick sweat off her collarbone, smelling her skin. She’s shoving crossly at her trousers, impatient. He laughs, trying to do it silently, starts kissing her again, reaching for her leathers. She moves away so he can tug them down for her, then climbs back on top. His hands are already on her bare skin, kneading at thigh and buttock. She swipes her clit against his cock, a long, slow stroke that makes him want to groan at how wet she is, how shivery and responsive she feels.

“I told you,” she murmurs, reaching down to line him up. “I want to fuck you here.” She grinds herself onto him, wet and tight, thrusting harder to get him fully seated. She gives one casual stroke at her clit, then cups his face and kisses him.

His hips are already twitchy: he’s so worked up, and all he wants is to feel her move. He has one arm tight around her waist, his hand on the curve of her bum. He can feel the stiffness of her bodice against his belly, the softness of her breasts where she’s pressed against him. He’s kneading her buttock, urging her to get going. When she does, it’s agonisingly, wonderfully slow. She rocks against him as if she has all the time in the world.

This isn’t the first time they’ve risked fucking in the garages, in dark corners. It’s mostly been fast and urgent, about wanting each other that moment. This time, she’s not rushing. She pumps her hips in long, luxurious strokes, as if she wants to spin it out, to make the most of him. He whimpers again, caught up in the feel and the scent of her, the way she grinds down at the end of a stroke. When she kisses him, it’s less about keeping him quiet than enjoying his mouth, sucking his lower lip and licking her way inside. He wraps his arms tighter around her. She moans against his lips.

There’s a sudden huge clatter from the main garage. It’s the sound of a car being lifted up overhead: one of the pursuit vehicles needs work done on the chassis. They both start at hearing something so close, knowing there’s a whole team of people just beyond the projecting wall. Max thinks it might hurry her, but if anything she slows down, kissing him more deeply.

If it started as a tease, she’s gone beyond it. They’re both making helpless little noises now, trying to keep it quiet, swallowed moans and sighs. He can’t stop touching her, pulling her closer, her hand on his jaw, in his hair. Her other arm is slung around him, her metal hand dangling, her nub hooked tight over his upper arm. He kisses her throat, moves his hand in to find her clit. She shivers, but he’s the one who groans, feeling her wet skin as she twitches under his fingers. “What you do to me,” she gasps, in his ear. He moans in recognition, lost in her, feeling her shudder and clench around him. 

The rattle of the car hoist stops. In the sudden silence, Max is trying desperately hard not to come, though he doesn’t stop stroking her. They’re both panting; Furiosa starts grinding faster. He stops worrying. 

The noise outside starts up again, this time with the buzz of a power tool on metal. It’s only just in time. Furiosa is coming, head tipped back and mouth open, gasping loud. Max presses his face against her neck, but he’s still louder, letting go with a groan. He clings to her as they sit panting, listening to the scream of metalwork. She strokes her hand through his hair, rests her forehead on his. 

“Upstairs,” he suggests, still breathless. “S’too noisy round here.” Furiosa snorts with laughter, snuggling into him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
